


Fire and Ice

by Sophie_Of_Tarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Song of Ice and Fire, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2767037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie_Of_Tarth/pseuds/Sophie_Of_Tarth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For asharastarfall, ginmo and not forgetting Anon for the Jamie and Brienne Holiday Fest…<br/>Brienne Tarth is persuaded by her best friend Margery Tyrell to take part in the Westeros TV special “Athletes on Ice” much against her better judgement. But she’s a skier who has lost her main sponsor due to a scandal that never was and she needs the publicity if she is to find another one. Just how bad could it be?<br/>It is for charity after all.<br/>Her partner? The annoying but gorgeous Ser Jamie Lannister, ex-army officer and outspoken world class winter biathlete. He skies, he shoots but he can’t be bothered to skate too much because he’s doing an old friend a favour just by turning up.</p><p>Brienne Tarth and her blossoming career as a top downhill skier are clearly doomed.</p><p>A seasonal story in three parts by Sophie Of Tarth</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not a Skater Girl

Brienne Tarth lay on the ice, holding her nose, tears already leaking from her eyes and dribbling down her cheeks.

_It hurts like crap!_

Cheesy winterfest music rang around the ice rink as Brienne Tarth buried her face in her hands and prayed for the pain to pass, aware that the stickiness on her palms meant she had a bleeding nose from where it had hit the ice as she had crashed out.

Brienne heard rather than saw someone come up beside her, the sound of them stopping in a modest spray of ice making her heart sink.

“Problems Downhill?” The words were spoken in that hateful, all too familiar voice that had haunted her dreams, nightmares and every waking moment in between during this torture that Margery Tyrell insisted on calling ‘Good for you and your career’.

 _Why does he persist in using that awful nickname,_ she fumed to herself, _Downhill… as in going downhill… synonymous with downbeat, downtrodden and down on your luck!._

“Mmmm not Downhill, my mmms Briemme,” she mumbled crossly from behind her hands, hunching her shoulders and continuing to nurse her nose.

“Okay _Briemme,_ want to try it again?” The irritation in his tone was clear.

 _Do I want to try again?_ When her knees hurt, her elbows stung and her nose felt like it had been pushed inside out and then popped back the right way again.

_No, I want to go home. I want to go to bed and cry my eyes out under the covers where no one can see me. I don’t want to be here breaking my face on the ice so I can raise my profile and get a sponsor for what is left of the season._

Brienne slowly shook her head, “I’ll be fime. I just meed to sort my face out,” she told him her face still muffled by her hands.

“Why, what’s the point?” Jaime Lannister’s voice became a little closer as he hunkered down on the ice next to her, his skates on the edge of her vision, “there’s no fixing that face wench.”

“Briemme, my name is Briemme,” she insisted.

Brienne moved her fingers far enough apart to glare at Lannister’s smug face, annoyed beyond reason at his _‘oh so reasonable’_ tone.

The same tone he had used the night he had stepped in to stop her leaving this stupid competition. The evening the producers had gathered all participants together to announce who would be partnered with whom as part of the Westeros TV Winterfest Special “Athletes On Ice”. Brienne shrunk into her seat the moment it had become apparent quite how much taller and broader she was than the other female participants in the competition, and some of the men as well. When it was finally announced that she was to be partnered with Ser Jaime Lannister, the outspoken biathlete from the Northern Games, she was at the point of walking out, particularly when it was mentioned that their pairing had only come about because another athlete had withdrawn. He had seemed completely unfazed by the whole process, and by her, simply responding by looking Brienne up and down and saying, “She’ll do. I’ll take her,” then ignoring the stifled sniggers that were evident about the room from the other competitors, left with his brother Tyrion, to enjoy the local nightlife courtesy of the “Athletes On Ice” hospitality budget. She had gone back to her hotel room with Margery Tyrell doing her utmost to prevent her picking up the phone and quitting. Margery kept reminding Brienne about how much good would be done for her children’s charity with the money should Brienne win, how important it was for her charity to even be mentioned on such a big TV show, and just how much Brienne needed the exposure if she was going to be able to afford to re-join the professional downhill circuit in the new year.

"Come on, we haven't got all day."

“Must you be quite so horrid?” She snapped, struggling onto her knees, glaring at her partner.

He was an obnoxious being, granted a far too handsome for his own good, blond haired, green eyed, lean-limbed obnoxious being, but one nonetheless.

“I can be far worse,” he replied, studying what he could see of her face with a slight frown, his head slightly inclined to one side.

“I camm damm well believe it,” she sniffed from behind her masking hands. That was until they were pulled away from her face, her tight grip prised open by Jaime’s long strong fingers.

“Gods teeth!” he exclaimed on seeing the blood, “did you actually land on your face this time, as I can’t quite tell?”

“Fuck off,” she growled at him, jerking her face away from the light grip he had on her chin..

“Sweet gods Brienne, stop being so bloody tough and let me help you.” His face split into a broad grin as she realised that to an ex-army officer, decorated for his active service abroad, a bloody nose must be akin to the tiniest scratch.

Jaime straightened up to systematically search the six pockets of his three layers of hoodies before producing what looked like a crumpled scrap of cloth to hold to her nose to stem the flow of blood.

It turned out to be a fine linen handkerchief with a tiny JL embroidered in the corner.

“Wait here,” he instructed her, before putting the two fingers of his left hand in his mouth and producing an ear piercing whistle.

Brienne slumped even lower down onto the ice, his handkerchief pressed hard against her nose, trying to make herself as invisible as possible. The whistle had instantly caught the attention of everyone at the ice rink, instantly focusing them all on him, and then a moment later on her. He shook his head and made a throat cutting gesture with his finger before he skated off to the corner of the ice to pick up what looked like a first aid kit from the production assistants who were in the process of making their way gingerly across the ice to her in trainers and shoes.

Brienne could hear their coach Syrio Forel loudly remonstrating with them even as they slipped and skidded over to her.

It was Jaime Lannister who skated swiftly back, green kit box in hand.

_Ugh!_

An elegant effortless swan, to her clumsy donkey.

_Yes indeed, no one had thought to mention the fact he had been a keen ice hockey player in his youth either._

Jaime crouched down to study her poor nose and clean her face with the wipes he held in his hand as blood slowly stopped trickling down to her chin.

“It looks a little swollen but I’ll bet you a sizeable donation to your chosen charity that it’s not broken.” He grinned again, his teeth shining through the beard that covered his handsome jaw. A beard that he had steadfastly refused to remove much to the disgust of the "Athletes On Ice" production team, “however you might still get two black eyes, ah, by the way, I think you might have lost a tooth.”

“No!” Brienne responded, appalled, her hand instantly going to her mouth where she ran her tongue over her teeth.

“Only joking Downhill, and you’ll probably only get one black eye.”

“It’s not funny,” she squawked, “I’ve broken my tooth.”

“It’s a tiny chip,” he pointed out unsympathetically, “We’ll get it fixed after the competition and it’ll look even better than before. Luckily my reputation is so shit no one will bat an eyelid at the fact that I seem to have badly damaged you even before we make the first dress rehearsal.” Jaime Lannister grinned that killer grin again, emerald green eyes alive with wicked amusement. The rumours about him were shocking; family scandal, a decorated military career ending with the suspicious death of a senior officer, but it seemed that the Westerosi public liked nothing better than a bad boy turned slightly better. “Don’t worry… they’ll cover up any bruising with make-up.” Lots of it, was implicit in his tone, “and keep your mouth shut in the meantime.”

Brienne’s eyes narrowed and her mouth thinned as she looked down at the handkerchief balled in her fist.

“Help me up, Lannister.” She allowed him to haul her up and then shoved the bloody linen square into his good hand.

“So, do you want a break?” he asked her, a small grimace of distaste on his handsome face as he looked at the bloody handkerchief before tucking it into one of his pockets only using his fingertips. “Get the doctor to look at your nose and sympathise over your tooth. You could take the rest of the afternoon off maybe? I’ll clear it with Forel for you.”

 _I just bet you will,_ she fumed silently to herself, _any chance to go out on the town with your brother again._

Brienne glowered at him, before saying simply, “no, and I don't care about my tooth.” She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her white rugby shirt, leaving a streak of red from her elbow to her wrist, “I thought we had a competition to win, Lannister. Are you ready to go again or are you suggesting that because _you_ need a break?”

The production team always made sure he had plenty of breaks because Ser Jaime Lannister was an athlete who had lost his right hand in a war zone. Whenever they suggested a break to him, he would always accept with a wry grin and a shrug.

 _One could almost think his heart wasn't in this nonsense,_ thought Brienne glumly turning to leave the ice.

"No," he sighed, "if you are good to go a while longer I think I can too."


	2. Skater boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We need to take this seriously,” she insisted, “if we are to stand any chance of winning…”  
> “Win?” Jaime snorted, his face perfectly serious, “We aren’t going to win.”

Brienne moved over the ice as fast as she dared, her skates hissing across the surface as she concentrated on performing passable cross strokes as part of her warm up routine. She paused only briefly before moving onto practicing her inside edges, then her back cross strokes as Forel had painstakingly shown her over a week ago, before attempting a slightly wobbly waltz jump. She’d been on the ice since 5 am, having been sitting on the steps of the Winterfell Ice Rink at 4.45am, freezing in the light dusting of snow that had fallen overnight.

"Ninety nine per cent inspiration, one per cent talent," she chanted to herself each time she completed a circuit of the rink, although every time she did so, the memory of Jaime's effortless grace and athleticism on the ice as they had trained, mocked her.

Brienne had been unable to sleep for several nights now, tossing and turning in the uncomfortable bed in her cheap hotel bedroom, anxious about her sponsorship, worried she was going to let Margery down, terrified of humiliating herself again in public. In her experience, it was far better to go and do something about it than it was to lie in bed, ruminating, scared to death of what lay ahead. It was only five days until the first of two Winterfest performances scheduled for the holiday period and Brienne was really starting to panic.

A pathetic attempt at a camel spin from a standing start made Brienne force herself to start her practice over again, cross strokes, inside edges, back cross strokes, on and on and on.

 _I have to get better, I have to,_  she kept telling herself and she pushed herself to go faster, jump higher, cut closer to the edge of the ice.

  _I can’t let Margery and the charity down_ , she lectured herself _, and I’ll let myself down if I don’t use this to get myself the good publicity I need so badly._

It was 7.30 am before she saw anyone else other than the caretaker, and the winterfest music started crackling over the loudspeakers. One of the executive producers, Petyr Baelish, was hurrying through the seating area towards the rooms the production team were using for briefings. He seemed surprised to see her out on the ice so early, giving her an awkward nod before moving off once more.

8 am and more people started arriving at the rink, and then from nowhere the distinctive Lannister boys suddenly appeared in the stands, both dressed for the cold weather in red scarves with woollen beanies pulled low over their brows. Both of their heavy coats were still dusted with rapidly thawing snowflakes as they sat talking, holding tall take-out cups that were steaming in the cool atmosphere of the auditorium. As she watched, Jaime Lannister pulled his hat from his head and used his fingers to comb his unruly hair, tucking it behind his ears.

Hunger suddenly stabbed her guts; it was as if a sword had been run through her middle.

 _I should have brought some sandwiches with me,_ she thought.

Brienne gritted her teeth and ignored the gnawing pain, moving into what had to be at least her two hundredth attempt to run through her entire practice routine, with maybe slightly more flair, a little more dash and much more speed than she had managed previously.

 _See Lannister, I can do it!_  She growled to herself.

That was until a shrill whistle pierced the air, causing her to catch an edge with her blade and stumble almost into a fall.

“Hey, Downhill,” Ser Jaime Lannister called out to her across the ice, “we’ve bought you breakfast. Stop showing off and come and get it while it’s still warm.”

It was as if every one present turned to see who he was shouting at.

 _Ye gods Lannister_ , Brienne flushed bright beetroot red with embarrassment, before head down, she made her way over to where Jaime was sat next to his distinctive brother. Very short, very good looking, Tyrion Lannister was as recognizable as he was notorious for his high living.

“Hello,” Brienne muttered awkwardly as she slid to a halt with a bump into the barriers at the side.

 _Who’d have thought six months ago I’d be standing here about to share breakfast with the Lannister boys of Casterly Rock,_  she thought wryly. Her father would be thrilled if he ever found out. Selwyn Tarth was the head of the last in a long line of a very old Stormlands family; he was nothing if not keen to see her settled down. Even a scandalous Lannister might do at a push.  

But six months ago she’d been in the middle of the mess that had cost her the sponsorship deal with a well known ski manufacturer. Her father had been staunchly supportive throughout the whole of it, but his opinions on her being so far away from home, travelling to competitions on her own, had been made very clear.

“I bought you a hot chocolate,” Jaime told her, “and I’ve put extra sugar in it.”

“I don’t take sugar,” Brienne replied automatically, desperately trying to ignore the noisy protests of her stomach.

“You’ve been on the ice since five am, of course you need sugar,” Jaime balanced his own drink carefully on the barrier before thrusting the huge take-out cup of hot liquid into her gloved hand where it burned with reassuring warmth.

_How does he know how long I’ve been here?_

“How do you know I’ve been here since five am?”

“Spies,” Jaime told her briefly, glancing up from his own drink to check she was removing the lid of her own.

“The caretaker told him,” Tyrion informed her, wincing slightly as a one of the skaters taking to the ice crashed their boots against the barrier.

Jaime’s attention was caught by his brother’s reaction, “How is your head?”

“Still pretty sore,” Tyrion told him.

“As sore as you think Varys is going to be when he gets the bar bill?” Jaime grinned at him.

“Maybe as sore,” Tyrion gave a slow conspiratorial grin back.

“You were both out drinking  _again_?” Brienne could not keep the note of sheer disbelief as she looked at both of them over the rim of her cup.

“Please don’t shout, and if you could talk just a little less,” the shudder that Tyrion Lannister gave was genuine enough, his eyes regarding her balefully as she put her drink back down on the barrier with a huff, “loudly... my head would thank you.”

“How can you train if you have a hangover?” She directed her terse question directly at Jaime, who simply gave her a look that suggested she was an idiot.

“Like I always do when I have a hangover,” he replied, clearly puzzled at her annoyance, “carefully.”

“We need to take this seriously,” she insisted, “if we are to stand any chance of winning…”

“Win?” Jaime snorted, his face perfectly serious, “We aren’t going to win.”

“But…”

She looked towards Tyrion, only to see the briefest flash of pity cross his face before he turned his attention to the other skaters who were starting to come onto the ice for practice. Daenerys Targaryen was easily the best, an ice dancer in her own right; she had been paired with the very handsome, if still rather wobbly, rugby player called Jon Snow.

 _They look really good together,_ Brienne realised as she followed Tyrion's gaze to the couple skating past them, _and they have been together exactly the same amount of time as us._

“We aren’t going to win, Downhill,” Jaime regained her gaze with the bright green of his own, “I don’t think we stood much of a snowball in hell's chance anyway given that Daenerys is here, but once Sansa Stark agreed to join the programme even that chance was…” he mimed cutting his own throat by way of explanation.

Sansa Stark was an international world-class gymnast who was as beautiful as she was talented, and she had been paired with the exceptional Loras Tyrell who had won a very similar competition on another light entertainment channel the year before. It was a partnership made in the seven heavens for a competition like Athletes on Ice.

“But…” Brienne repeated, but then fell silent, momentarily speechless.

“God’s love you Brienne; you didn’t actually think we would win this thing did you? A one handed has been and a six foot three inch….”

 _Yes, yes I did._  She stared at Jaime as if she could not quite believe his words,  _why take part in something if you are at least not going to even try?_

“Petyr Baelish has a very personal interest in Ms Stark, so Baelish was more than happy to allow me to join after Connington flounced out because he can see I’m no threat even if you cannot. Make no mistake, I’m here as a favour to Varys to make up the numbers, pure and simple. He was good enough to help Tyrion out of a fix for me when I was… detained elsewhere. And as you well know, a Lannister always pays his debts.”

“Connington was originally supposed to be part of this?” Brienne asked in a tiny voice as she felt her jaw drop, “Ronnet Connington?”

“It would have made for a better show dynamic apparently,” Tyrion told her, "Baelish had him pencilled in as your partner."

 _But I hate him,_ Brienne admitted to herself. Connington was the one who had sold the scandal of Renly’s unconventional love life to the paparazzi, and had included all the sad details of her own infatuation with the charismatic Renly Baratheon in enough detail to convince her sponsor to drop her. It was bad enough that Loras Tyrell, Renly’s rumoured lover, was in the line-up with her, but Connington as well?

 _Ye gods, I’m not even here to make the numbers up… I’m here to provide the entertainment,_ Brienne realised, horrified.

“So it’s all a fix?” she felt all her drive and determination simply drain away to leave the sensation that she had just been made a fool of, again. “That is it, I’ve had enough… I really am quitting this time.” Brienne said finally.

“No…” the look Tyrion exchanged with Jaime was clearly one bordering on alarm.

“Yes,” Brienne leant over the barrier in an effort to reach her jacket, “give me my jacket as I’m going to call the producers right now. I need my phone.”

“No,” Tyrion said firmly picking her coat up from the chair next to him, even as Jaime went to get it, “you need to think about this.”

“What is there to think about?” Brienne asked him crossly, “The whole point of this seems to be that I’m going to look stupid and come last. I’ll never get taken seriously by anyone ever again. Margery will kill me, and I’ll end up back in Tarth, farming potatoes for the rest of my life. I’m quitting.” She glowered at them both.

Tyrion kept a firm hold of her jacket.

Brienne was not about to fight for it, so with an angry glare directed at both men, she turned and skated across the arena instead, to sit and sulk in the stands opposite. As she looked back, Tyrion and Jaime appeared to be arguing until Jaime shed his coat, scarf and looked to be lacing his skates. Next thing Brienne knew, Jaime Lannister was skating across the ice towards her, executing immaculate power pulls as he did so, waving cheerily at Daenerys and Jon as he shot past them.

 _You bloody show off Lannister,_  she thought as she watched him skate over and then hop onto the rubber matting at the barrier exit.

“What do you want?” Brienne growled as he dropped into the plastic flip down seat next to her.

“You forgot your breakfast,” he produced a brown bag from the pocket of one of his numerous hoodies, and placed it on her lap.

“I don’t eat breakfast,” she replied, picking up the brown bag between her thumb and forefinger and putting it on his lap.

“Look – Brienne,” Jaime turned to face her, arms crossed once he had balanced her breakfast on the barrier in front of them, “the truth is that I need this whole thing as much as you do.” At Brienne’s snort of disbelief, he unfolded his arms and turned to face her properly, “No, I really do. I want to compete in the Northern Games again, in the able bodied competition. I want to win the Northern Games gold for a third time before I retire, and to do that I need to convince the Northern Games committee that I am capable of competing.”

“By taking part in a glitzy skating competition?” Brienne rolled her eyes before looking him up and down, “Come on Lannister, I hardly think the committee are going to be impressed by a biathlete performing waltz jumps, do you?”

“I need the exposure a programme this popular can give me so they can’t turn my application down.” Jaime insisted, “They have yet to pass the special equipment I need to use to take part. I have to convince them that I’m more than an adapted pole and gun.” He frowned then, scowling down at his hand and his stump before thrusting them each into a hoodie pocket.

Brienne sighed and took the brown bag from where he had balanced it on the railing in front of her, “You could do it easily. Everything comes so easily to you.”

“No, it does not, Brienne,” he smiled briefly before looking away across the ice, “And if I don’t get into the Games again this year, that’s it. The deal with the family is that I have to go back to work at Casterly Rock.”

“Back to your family bank?” Brienne had a vision of Jaime Lannister in a business suit, and her abdomen suddenly did the strangest lurching hop of desire.

“About as much fun as farming potatoes in Tarth by the sound of things,” Jaime grinned, “You’re a skier, I’m sure you understand how hard it is to give up the mountains before you are ready.”

 _That is the problem; I’m beginning to understand you only too well,_ Brienne thought to herself.

“So do you honestly think we can’t win this?” She finally asked him.

“Downhill, there is no way that you and I can win this competition,” Jaime told her bluntly, reverting to her nickname as soon as he saw someone approach.

A harassed assistant director appeared at Jaime’s shoulder holding a suit bag in her hand, like a shield in front of her.

“Miss Tarth… I’ve been told to bring you for a fitting,” she informed Brienne, before noticing Jaime sitting before her. Only then did she smile.

“What, right now?” Brienne asked, wondering what excuse she could make that would allow her to miss the fitting and continue to train.

Jaime had turned to look at the suit bag, reaching up to catch at the zip that had snagged on his hair.

“I’ve been told to escort you to wardrobe now, with your costume.” Was the terse reply, meanwhile Jaime Lannister had not only freed the caught lock of hair from the zip tab, but had also opened the bag without the assistant director even realising it.

“No we are not going to win this competition,” he repeated, then as he nudged the suit bag out of the way to reveal a tiny scrap of blue spangled fabric dangling from the hanger inside, he added, “but I for one am going to have a lot of fun trying. Nice costume Miss Tarth,” Jaime’s green eyes twinkled with mirth, “it matches your eyes.”

And it will cover little else, Brienne realised, appalled, jumping slightly as Jaime moved towards her and asked, “I should probably come to the fitting, don’t you think?” his breath was warm against her ear as he leant forward and whispered, “you’ll probably need a second opinion.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for ikkiM, otherwise known as Anon it turns out!!!!  
> The next chapter is competition time at Athletes on Ice....


	3. Athletes on Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Unlike me with the strangely ill-fitting costume, I have noticed that you’ve got the beautifully tailored suit with the ‘fit you where they touch you’ trousers. Just exactly how many times did that wardrobe assistant ask you back to measure your inside leg, Jaime?”
> 
> “Your costume is what happens when you leave others to guess your vital statistics, Downhill,” Jaime drawled at her.

Brienne checked the clock on the wall of the competitor’s area again, and then again, shifting restlessly from one skate to the other. As she did so she systematically pulled at the pants of her costume; left cheek, right cheek, before tugging angrily at the incredibly short blue and white sequined skirt.

 _Someone should tell wardrobe that tall women not only have longer legs, but longer bodies as well,_ thought Brienne grumpily as she pulled at the gusset of her costume for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“Brienne,” Jaime’s deceptively lazy voice came from his position by the barrier watching Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow in the middle of delivering a stunning first routine on the ice.

“What?” Brienne tugged yet again at the lycra material awkwardly covering her buttocks.

“Please stop,” Jaime asked her mildly, his gaze running over her from head to toe before returning to the pair on the ice.

“Stop what?” She asked him, turning to carefully negotiate the rubber matting in her blades so that she could move to stand next to him, holding on to the hem of her skirt as she walked.

“Please stop abusing your costume, it’s very distracting.”

“Oh, sorry,” she mumbled, slipping a discreet finger into the leg elastic even as she spoke to hook the material back into place. “It really is too short. I’m sorry if it’s annoying you but believe me it’s annoying me even more.”

“Brienne, please stop,” Jaime caught her hand mid tug, his palm ending up on her buttock, “you have to stop.”

Brienne froze and stared imperiously down at his hand, which Jaime immediately removed with a wry smile.

“Why?” she asked him.

“Because,” he replied.

“Why because?” Brienne pursed her lips, restless, scowling at him, “it’s a bloody uncomfortable outfit.”

 _What I wouldn’t give to be wearing my lucky racing suit,_ Brienne thought.

“You are making me uncomfortable.”

“How?” she snapped by way of reply, “Unlike me with the strangely ill-fitting costume, I have noticed that you’ve got the beautifully tailored suit with the ‘fit you where they touch you’ trousers. Just exactly how many times did that wardrobe assistant ask you back to measure your inside leg, Jaime?”

“Your costume is what happens when you leave others to _guess_ your vital statistics, Downhill,” Jaime drawled at her.

“Well no one can accuse you of leaving anything to chance can they,” she grumbled back at him, “you spent more time in wardrobe than practicing with me.”

“Careful Downhill, that almost sounds like you’re jealous,” he replied, slowly climbing to his feet, “and you don’t want to make me any more uncomfortable than you have already, do you?”

“Why not?”

With a long suffering sigh, Jaime allowed the beautiful orange and flame red two tone fabric of his jacket to fall open to reveal the exquisitely tailored trousers hugging his slim hips, flat stomach and what could only be interpreted as a clear sign of an erection.

Brienne’s mouth formed a silent ‘Oh!’ as she stared at Jaime, and then at Jaime’s trousers.

“Oh,” she whispered, “that looks a little, um… awkward.”

“It is,” Jaime shifted uncomfortably on his feet, “so if you could just stop… touching yourself that would really… help.”

“Yes, yes,” Brienne blushed almost as red as his jacket, resisting the urge to stare, instead she opted to glare at the floor before she asked, “will it… will you be okay before we… before…”

“I am sure that the prospect of my imminent appearance, live on ‘Athletes on Ice’, will have a suitably sobering effect on every cell in my body within the next few moments if you would just stop fiddling with your backside,” he advised her caustically.

“Right… yes, of course,” Brienne placed her hands on her hips, and then started to pace up and down, stamping on her skates to get used to the feel of them underfoot, before shaking and jiggling her arms as a warm up exercise. Looking across at Jaime, she caught him staring at her with a long suffering look on his face.

“What?”

“Not helping,” he told her abruptly.

Brienne looked down at the front of her costume where her pitifully small bosom was encased in layers of blue satin and flesh-coloured net, “why, what now?”

“Your… I can see your….” He waved at his own chest briefly before indicating hers with a flick of his hand and looking away.

Startled, Brienne   looked down at her costume. Sure enough the cold of the ice and standing waiting her turn next to the sexiest man in the auditorium had ensured that her nipples were clearly showing against the blue satin of her bodice.

“Honestly Lannister,” she scolded him, promptly turning her back on him before resuming her leg stamping arm jiggling warm up. After a few moments, Brienne stole a look over her shoulder only to catch him staring at the back of her silver lurex spangled legs, with an unreadable expression on his face.

 _Jaime Lannister is surely the oddest individual, I have ever met_ , Brienne frowned to herself. Since their disagreement on the ice five days ago, and their conversation after Brienne’s second attempt to quit the competition, Jaime had worked as hard as she had to improve their performance, if not harder.  Brienne was still unsure as to whether this change in attitude was due to the candid exchange they had shared, or whether it was due to his fiercely competitive spirit finally asserting itself. Whatever it was, it had resulted in Ser Jaime Lannister showing the lengths he was prepared to go to in order to succeed. She could not fault his work ethic on the ice. Jaime worked hard and long at perfecting their routines under the exacting eye of coach Forel, sending his brother Tyrion to spy on the other competitors as they trained and then using the intelligence gained to ensure their own routine was competitive with the best of the rest.

_“We need more lifts,” Jaime told Syrio Forel after consulting with Tyrion over his breakfast take-out._

_“Why?” Forel asked him bluntly._

_“Because both Dany and Loras have more lifts than we do in their routines and the whole point of this is to show that I can do whatever anyone else can.”_

_“How are you going to lift Brienne?” Syrio Forel studied Brienne from the top of her head to her toes, “She is a big girl, tall. Good for a downhill skier, you can see she will be fast, good centre of gravity… but for skating with a partner?” Forel simply shook his head and tutted disparagingly, “Brienne is too big even for a man with two hands to lift easily…” he said before shrugging and saying his last few words of his sentence in Valyrian._

Brienne did not need to understand what Syrio Forel had said to know what he meant.

 _My size is obviously as much of a hindrance as Jaime’s disability,_ Brienne had realised, chewing on her lip thinking enviously of the petite build of Dany Targaryen, _no real surprise there._

What was a surprise was Jaime’s abrupt reply, also in Valyrian, before he added, obviously for Brienne’s benefit _, “We need lifts if we are to have any chance of competing. I intend to get this right because I am never doing this again.” He had grinned at them both, “Never. Ever. Again.”_

_“Nothing personal Downhill,” Jaime had then said out of the side of his mouth as he had skated past her._

_But it had hurt to be told that all the same,_ thought Brienne.

Finally, the pair of them were ushered forward and allowed to skate into the centre of the rink.

Finally, the ice was theirs.

Practice was one thing, but the reality was always going to be something else, Brienne realised as she faced Jaime across the ice, the auditorium silent.

It was a three minute routine, that was all, but it stretched before Brienne like a yawning eternity. The pair of them were supposed to be about to fight the fight of ice versus fire. Brienne assumed Jaime represented the red gold of fire attempting to vanquish her in blue as ice, and as they started their routine with a one handed, circling face off, Brienne was aware of a glint in Jaime’s eye that suggested this was not just a fight, or indeed a battle, but in his eyes, a war.

 _This is what Jaime Lannister looks like when he thinks he has a chance at another shot at the Northern Games,_ Brienne thought as he gripped her easily with his strong left hand and twisted her into a death spiral, so strong he was able to ensure she was safely back on her feet before he released her hand and raced off across the ice. Brienne raced after him in hot pursuit, now able to mirror his fast, elegant back cross strokes as they covered the rink at speed. She completed a fast second circuit as they built up to the sit lift, Brienne having to use all her skills as a high speed athlete to gauge the speed and angle of approach to the stretch of ice that would enable them to perform the elaborate move. Her natural balance asserted itself even on skates as she braced herself to lift and tip Jaime over her shoulder.

This had been their compromise; Jaime had wanted lifts in the program, Forel insisted it was impossible until Jaime had persuaded Brienne to do the key lifts instead of him.

_“It will be a surprise,” acknowledged Forel._

_“It’ll impress the sponsors,” Jaime told her._

_“I’ll kill us both,” Brienne protested, biting her lip, “I’ll lift you the wrong way, slice an artery with your blades and then drop you on your stupid head.”_

_“It’s only two lifts,” he had replied with a sigh, “and I trust you Brienne.”_

Two moves. One a sit lift, the other the delightfully named headbanger.

Brienne accomplished the sit lift by concentrating so hard on transferring her weight successfully from foot to foot to avoid a crash, that she was sure her face was a picture of scowling aggression as they swept past the judges. Jaime leapt onto her shoulder with such confidence that Brienne staggered only slightly as he enfolded her in his arms to perform a back wrap before neatly regaining his feet and spinning away from her, skating backwards as she followed, a shit eating grin across his face as he did so.

 _“I told you we could do it,”_ his expression clearly told her.

 _Fuck you Lannister_ , she cursed as she felt her hands grow moist at the anxious prospect of the next move, _the fucking headbanger._

Merely two high speed circuits later, he skated at her, leg raised as if to kick her at which point Brienne was to grab his ankle and spin them both round while he lifted his other foot to cross the first at the top of his boot. Problem was that the toes of his boot were straight up, not to the side as she had been coached to expect. All it took was one rotation for Brienne to realise it was not going to work, and rather than him skating triumphantly away into a spin, she spiralled him down safely, laying Jaime onto the ice at her feet to finish.

The audience erupted into a storm of applause, unaware of the change to the routine, congratulations ringing out across the ice as they took their bow next to each other, but Jaime’s expression was furious.

“What the fuck was that Brienne?” Jaime snapped at her.

“Your feet were in the wrong position…,” she replied, bowing again, hoping that onlookers would assume her bright red face came from dangling her head upside down in a series of extended bows to the audience instead of from the mortification of having aborted the best move of their routine.

“Fuck that, I could have adjusted if you’d given me more time…”

There was so much she wanted to say _, the ice is bloody hard you idiot, I could have broken your neck, you can’t bring your head up if your toes are in the wrong position, it's a terrifying thing to do, if just one thing goes wrong you could be knocked unconscious or worse,_ but instead she said, “It wasn’t _safe_ , Jaime, I was about to drop you.”

“Fuck safe,” Jaime snarled, “this was your moment… now your wasted moment, more fool you Downhill.”

They skated from the ice, Brienne trailing slightly behind unrepentant despite his anger. “It wasn’t safe,” she repeated.

 _I thought I was competitive,_ Brienne thought mulishly _, but Jaime Lannister is stupidly competitive and the ice is unforgiving when you hit it hard enough._ She let Jaime make all the small talk required for the off-the-ice interview, simply nodding and smiling (whilst keeping her mouth firmly closed of course).

The music struck up as Sansa Stark and Loras Tyrell took to the ice, festooned in collars of brightly coloured feathers and a lot of diamanté.

Brienne watched their progress with interest, despite having been swept to the side by their entourage; she was hoping that they did well, really well. The best final had to be a skate off between Sansa and Loras, Daenerys and Jon, and maybe Stannis and the stunning Melisandre. Although Stannis and Melisandre’s routine lacked the speed and content of hers and Jaime’s there was no denying the meticulous footwork of Stannis Baratheon combined with the technical excellence of the beautiful Melisandre put the unlikely duo in a very strong position.

Even the prospect of Stannis Baratheon’s smug face when he made it through to the final was worth not having to face Jaime’s anger again, Brienne admitted to herself.

Suddenly there was a roar of disappointment from the crowd, a slight pause and then an eruption of movement in the group of people around Brienne as Loras Tyrell stamped from the ice, feathers drifting from his costume as he went. Brienne saw Tyrion offer Sansa his hand as she limped from the ice, her face streaked with tears as she hobbled along using the barrier for support.

“He’ll be disqualified for sure,” said a voice, “you can’t just walk off the ice like that.”

“She fell, she’s hurt her ankle, what else could they do?” said another.

"Are you okay?" Brienne asked Sansa as the girl sank into a seat next to Tyrion. She nodded bravely, her lips thin, trying not to wince as Tyrion started to unlace her skates.

"Good idea," But as she sat down in Tyrion's recently vacated chair, ready to remove her own skates, Tyrion stopped her by simply covering the laces with his hand.

"No," he told her, "I don't think you are finished quite yet Brienne. They have just announced the finalists, and you and Jaime are going to have to skate again."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I love Will Ferrell's 2007 film Blades of Glory, I have done as much as possible for it only to appear in my fic as the name/theme of their routine. Nothing else! 
> 
> I hope you are still enjoying the story.  
> You may have noticed that I've added another chapter - A surprise for New Years Eve, simply because I couldn't leave this crazy fic quite yet and, yes, I have to concede to ikkiM that 3 chapters wasn't quite enough to finish the story as it turns out!


	4. Almost finished...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth have managed, to get through to the final three of "Athletes on Ice"... and Brienne wonders...  
> Chapter Four of Five

"Jaime?”

Beside her, another one of the director's assistants fussed noisily and, in her opinion, unnecessarily about Jaime’s disappearance and the fact they only had five minutes at the most to find him before they were due to skate again.

“Don’t worry,” Brienne found herself reassuring the young man beside her, “he’ll have just popped out for a few minutes,” in a tone far more confident than she actually felt.

_Where had Jaime Lannister disappeared to?_

Tyrion appeared unexpectedly by her side, “Have you found my brother yet?”

“Does he do this a lot?” She asked him, exasperated.

“Jaime? No, no… but the bad news is I did see our sweet sister Cersei heading this way. She tends to make him… forgetful.”

Brienne threw him a sharp glance. Of course she’d read the papers like everyone else had. The rumour and the gossip surrounding the beautiful twins of Casterly Rock was as well publicised as it was unconfirmed. Indeed Tywin Lannister had taken several publications to court, successfully, over more overt attempts to write what really might be going on within the Lannister family.

All Brienne knew was that she’d been with him virtually every waking hour for almost a month and a half and he had never mentioned his sister once. Tyrion, however, was a completely different matter _. Jaime Lannister was constantly referring to what Tyrion said, what Tyrion did, what Tyrion would think of something, all of the time._

“Where have you gone you stupid man,” she grumbled as she walked across the athlete’s waiting area, anxiously scanning the assembled crowd for Jaime’s distinctive head of Lannister gold hair.

Where had he gone?

 _Where would I go if I wanted to have a couple of minutes of peace and quiet away from this craziness?_ She asked herself and looked round the holding area until she spied a door to one of the external corridors in the corner.

Hurrying as best she could over the rubber mats, the blades on her feet making her wobble as she went, Brienne fell clumsily against the door and wrenched it open.

“Jaime Lannister where the bloody hell are you?” her voice boomed into the corridor, and the moment the words left her mouth Brienne immediately wished she could suck them back in again. She could see Jaime in the shadows, his expression intense, speaking to someone with the same head of golden yellow hair as his own.

Noise from the auditorium filtered through the dull grey concrete walls, muffled and incongruous in its cheerful tackiness as Brienne heard an unfamiliar voice say into the silence, “I love you.”

Jaime’s face lifted, his green gaze suddenly caught her own down the length of the dimly lit corridor, but still the words seemed to ring out. “I love you, I love you.”

Brienne felt her face flush bright red, the prickling heat swamping her face and neck as she stepped back and slammed the door shut, almost stepping on Tyrion as she did so. She jumped back, and then cleared her throat. “You need to get your… brother and tell him to get his skates on.”

“Is he alone?”

“No,” Brienne replied bluntly.

“Don’t tell me,” Tyrion seemed mightily pissed off as he reached up to open the door, “sweet Cersei has decided to turn up, just as her poor crippled brother looks like he might just be about to get his life back on track again. Explain to me Brienne Tarth, why my thrice cursed sister can’t just leave him alone when she doesn’t _really_ want him at all?”

“I-,” Brienne gulped, flushed again, awfully aware she had no idea what to say to him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get Jaime for you,” Tyrion sighed, walking through the door and shutting it quietly behind him.

 _Oh shit,_ was all Brienne could think as she wiped sweaty hands down the front of her sparkly costume, a few loose sequins coming away on her palms as she did so _, awkward, awkward, awkward!_

The door re-opened to reveal a woman as beautiful as Jaime was handsome, her cat green eyes finding and scanning Brienne’s loitering figure as if finding it sadly wanting.

 _Cersei Lannister in the flesh was about as stunning as a real person could be,_ Brienne gulped.

Cersei allowed herself a small smile, flicked her hair over her shoulder and stalked past in the kind of death defying heels that Brienne knew she would never own. Exquisite, aloof, she paused to study Brienne more closely, paying an uncomfortable amount of attention to Brienne’s despised costume.

“It doesn’t look as flattering close up you know,” Cersei observed, the sideways glance towards Jaime as he followed Tyrion out of the corridor suggested she would have said far worse if Jaime had not been there to hear it, “which is a real shame for you.”

Brienne did not reply, instead she concentrated on trying to will her bright red flush away, praying for it to dissipate so she could stop looking as gauche as she felt.

“See you later Cersei,” Jaime said to his sister.

Brienne couldn’t look at him, didn’t know where to look but ended up glancing down at his tight fitting trousers, looking for what exactly, she had no idea. She felt the movement of air as Cersei left, heard the door close rather than seeing her actually leave. When she did lift her eyes once more, it was straight into Jaime’s knowing green gaze.

“See anything you like?” he asked her coolly.

Brienne simply scowled and said, “You need to put your boots on, we have to be back on the ice in five minutes.”

“Three,” squeaked the assistant from by her elbow.

“So help Ser Jaime with his boots and laces and he might be ready in time,” Brienne told the assistant curtly.

“Brienne-“

“You need to hurry up. The two other pairs are already on the ice doing their warm up as we had to break for the news.” Brienne tugged defiantly on the hem of her skirt, before making her way towards the ice not caring if the boots made her stomp along like an oversized robot anymore.

_If I am honest, that’s what I’m starting to feel like._

“Brienne… wait,” Jaime caught her arm and spun her round to face him, “What you saw just now…”

“I didn’t see anything.” She replied grimly.

_But I heard plenty. I heard I love you, I love you, I love you._

Jaime continued to study her, his vivid green gaze wary. Brienne held his gaze for a moment and then sighed, taking pity on him, “Jaime, don’t worry, I didn’t see a thing. Just get your stupid boots on please, for the love of the seven. We’ve got a committee and sponsors to convince.” With that she stamped off, her head in a spin, a curious ache in her chest.

_Why do I feel so hurt? He’s only my stupid skating partner._

Admittedly they had spent what felt like most of the hours, of every day for the past too many weeks together, but that’s all they were. Work colleagues _. Working together towards a mutual goal… well, most of the time. End of. Nothing else._

As she started her warm up without Jaime, her thoughts drifted. She found herself thinking about the Westerosi press, about the rumours regarding how close the Lannister twins were, how Jaime’s capture in a war zone had hit the family hard.  The front page pictures of a stone-featured Tywin Lannister and a grey faced Cersei.

_Could the rumours about Cersei and Jaime actually be rooted in the truth?_

Cersei was married to a popular and influential politician, Robert Baratheon. Bob Baratheon was in a perfect position to ensure that a problematic relative in the army was posted as far away from his family as he thought prudent.

_But now Jaime was back, permanently._

What did Jaime mean to do?

 _Is it really any of my business?_ Brienne asked herself. _I am part of his team, nothing more. It is not for me to judge._

Jaime appeared at the edge of the ice a few moments later, boots on; the production assistant still crouched in front of him attempting to finish tying his laces. Brienne fancied she could almost feel Jaime’s frustration coming off of him in waves. Finally he was able to join her, skating up to stand beside her, putting his right arm around her as he did so.

“Brienne…” Jaime ran a hand through his mop of golden hair leaving it dishevelled, clearly wanting to continue their ridiculous discussion of just moments before, “it’s not…”

“Not helping.” Brienne told him firmly, wrenching her skirt down so hard the seams creaked, defiantly snapping the elastic of her pants against her buttocks as she skated away from him, “focus Jaime. Focus on this competition and forget everything else.”

Jaime flashed a furious look and then thankfully shut up as they were escorted from the ice so that Stannis Baratheon and his partner Melisandre could start the second run of their routine. Brienne thought Melisandre was actually pretty good, naturally graceful and an amazing presence on the ice, but Stannis with his meticulous precision lacked the lines and speed he needed to match her properly. As a result, Brienne was beginning to think that the only real challenge to Daenerys and Jon’s stunning routine was going to come from Jaime and herself.

_Who would have guessed it?_

Moments later, they were both ushered onto the ice to skate for a second time.

Brienne could feel Jaime’s competitive aggression making the air around him almost vibrate with its intensity, as if seeing Cersei had rattled him far more than he had admitted to previously. As she faced him ready for the start of their routine, Jaime scowled at her, “Try and get it right this time Downhill,” he muttered.

Brienne glared back at him, “Well you know what to do with your feet then Lannister,” she snapped back.

The music started and they moved into the one handed face off again, each holding the other’s gaze as if daring them to look away. The pair of them then split, moving fast across the ice to twist into a camel spin, Brienne watching Jaime’s timing carefully so she could match him accurately.

 _He’s so bloody graceful,_ she marvelled, as time slowed the only way it can when competing, then reality rushed in as they came out of the spin into paired Salchow jumps and then round into a pull through.  Brienne cautiously skated over him, Jaime going through her legs, holding him by the wrists and boosting him back onto his feet as she finished, Jaime turned to do the same to her, accomplishing it with one handed ease and then going one better, leaned in to whisper in her ear as she moved to an upright position, “Come on Downhill, don’t be so _boring_.”

_Boring? How dare he!_

Startled, and then furious, Brienne fed off her anger at Jaime’s remark, willing herself to go faster, take the corners with more flair and to hurl Jaime, at every opportunity the routine gave her, at the ice as hard as she could. But Jaime had the strength and balance to recover from all her attempts to get her own back, making himself, and occasionally even her, look even better as she did so. But as a result their entire routine turned into a far more graphic representation of the fight it was supposed to be.

As they moved into position for the sit lift, Brienne heaved Jaime well over her shoulder, leaving him to throw his arms around her waist before he flipped off her back entirely, given the excess of momentum she’d given him.

“Careful!” He cautioned her as he skated away, but Brienne simply glared at him as they completed a fast circuit of the rink.

_Breathe. Breathe and think about what you do!_

_I don’t want to damage him,_ she thought to herself, _quite yet._

Jaime skated towards her, foot raised, expression focused, for the start of the headbanger, and even as she gripped his ankle she realised Jaime had positioned his foot perfectly.

 _He actually is really good at this,_ she thought as started to spin round, Jaime’s other boot coming to rest across the first in a perfect position for the full headbanger spin, _such a shame he’s a dick_.

_I shouldn’t judge him – but why does he persist in being such an idiot?_

Teasing her, goading her about her face, her broken tooth, her clumsiness… damn him for making it all so… close.

_Damn him for choosing Cersei._

With a strength boosted by her irrational anger at him, Brienne achieved a fast spin lifting Jaime above the ice for one, two, three, four, five rotations. As she did so she dropped him low to the ice and then pulled back so that he span at a diagonal to the ice beneath their feet.

It was that which sobered Brienne instantly. The sheer danger of the move made her slow to a sensible speed so that Jaime could get one foot down and finally arc away from her so they could end their routine, this time, as planned.

 _Perfect!_ Or at least as perfect as Brienne Tarth, professional downhill skier and almost newbie skater could make it.

The crowd erupted, cheering and stamping their feet once they had realised how different the end was. Once they realised they had actually seen the whole of the planned routine this time.

Jaime took her hand, and they bowed together, first to one side of the rink, before then turning as one, and bowing to the other.

“Great work Downhill,” Jaime congratulated her, still out of breath as he bowed.

“You too,” Brienne mumbled, flushing bright red as he lifted her arm up to hold their joined hands above their heads as they continued to acknowledge the enthusiastic applause.

Brienne grimaced as she felt the material of her costume migrate towards the middle of her butt as she bent over to bow yet again.

 _Honestly, burning the damn thing would be too good an end for it,_ she thought.

As they skated to the barrier, Cersei appeared from nowhere and made a great show of flinging her arms around her brother and congratulating him as he stepped off the ice, hugging and kissing him clearly delighted, as Tyrion glowered at them from his seat next to Sansa. The interviewer stepped up to talk to Jaime and Cersei, Brienne finding herself edged to one side.

With a resigned shrug, Brienne simply stood well back and attempted to blend in with the nondescript backdrop as Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow took to the ice for the final routine of the competition.

As she stood there, Brienne pulled at the leg material of her costume one last time. Stretching the gusset away from her body with an ungainly pull before yanking the sparkling lycra material across each buttock in turn, a vain attempt to cover at least one of the cheeks there, Brienne thought longingly of when she would be finally be able to throw the damn thing into a bin on her way out of the Winterfell Ice Skating Arena.

 _Now... I've done as much as I possibly can to secure a sponsor, hopefully by this time tomorrow, I'll be on my way back to the mountains and my skis,_ Brienne thought wistfully as she watched Jaime laugh at something the interviewer said, and then shake his head, obviously at his most charming.

Then without missing a beat, Jaime turned and winked at Brienne, greatly amusing the interviewer as he did so.

But not Cersei, who had also turned to stare at Brienne, her eyebrows raised.

_(To Be Continued ...)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know.... I promised 4 chapters, now its 5.  
> Hope you don't hate me too much!!  
> I promise it'll end next chapter!!!  
> Happy New Year xx


	5. The last chapter...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But Brienne lifted you,” the interviewer pointed out, stubbornly pursuing his line of questioning although it was clear to Brienne that Jaime was reluctant to talk about their routine, “and it was an ‘Athletes on Ice’ first… women lifting the men, she handled you like a pro, do you think the skiers are showing everyone else how it’s done?” Jaime glanced at what had to be Cersei again, and then again, before replying. “The skiers are always showing everyone else how it’s done, and Brienne Tarth is no exception.”  
> And then he winked at Cersei… no, not Cersei, Jaime had in fact winked at her!

“Brienne!”

_Bang, bang, bang._

“Brienne, open the door!” Margaery hammered on the door the flimsy hotel door with a determined Tyrell fist.

“Mmmpf!” Still half asleep, Brienne blinked blearily at the clock by her bed, and realised that she had overslept.

 _Ye gods no, ‘Good Morning Westeros”!_ She was committed to participate in a post competition interview, the last obligation she had to fulfil as part of her ‘Athletes on Ice’ contract.

 “Brienne, open the door!” Throwing herself from the bed, Brienne staggered over to the door and unlocked it, allowing Margaery Tyrell, to erupt into the room like a miniature whirlwind.

“Come on Brienne,” Margaery pulled her case out from the wardrobe and flung open the top, and then disappeared into the miniscule ensuite bathroom, “get dressed and let’s go… your adoring public awaits you!”

Brienne snorted with amusement and accepted the toothbrush pushed on her by Margaery as she flew past.

“Don’t be ridiculous Marge,” she muttered, staring at the tiny blob of toothpaste on the brush and wondering if she could be bothered to go back into the bathroom for a second helping, “ Jaime Lannister was the eye candy in our team, I was just there to do the heavy lifting.”

“Pish,” Margaery snapped, pushing her mobile into Brienne’s spare hand before returning to the task of pulling clean clothes from wardrobe and then the case, “watch that before you have your shower, but make it quick!”

Mystified, Brienne looked down at the device in her hand, “it’s the interview,” she exclaimed, “from last night, where did you get this?”

“Does it matter?” asked Marge as she threw trousers and tops over the unmade bed. “Have you heard from any would be sponsors yet?”

“No.”

“Who is fielding your calls?”

“Dad said he would while I was away from the training camp.”

Margaery paused in the middle of tipping out the remainder of her belongings onto the bed and frowned, “Selwyn Tarth? You left your career as the best downhill skier this country has ever seen, in the hands of your somewhat over protective father?”

“I had no choice,” Brienne defended herself; “there was no one else.”

“Oh well, I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Margaery replied, looking at her rather strangely.

Brienne shrugged and pressed play _, of course it didn’t._

She looked down at the mobile in her hand, feeling a little foolish.

_“Very well done Jaime,” said the overfamiliar interviewer throwing an arm round Jaime’s shoulders, “an absolutely stunning routine.”_

_“Thank you,”_ smiled Jaime, angling his body slightly not only to loosen the interviewer’s hold slightly but also enabling him to glance briefly off camera, presumably at Cersei, _“it’s been an interesting challenge for everyone concerned.”_

_“Yes, I think everyone was surprised when Brienne Tarth lifted you over her shoulder for the back wrap. What do you think your colleagues will think when you return to the Westerosi Cross Country Ski Team for the Northern Games?”_

_“It’s not a given that I will make it into the team for the Northern Games,”_ Jaime smiled disarmingly at the interviewer, neatly side stepping the question. _“I can only hope.”_

 _“But Brienne lifted you,”_ the interviewer pointed out, stubbornly pursuing his line of questioning although it was clear to Brienne that Jaime was reluctant to talk about their routine, “ _and it was an ‘Athletes on Ice’ first… women lifting the men, she handled you like a pro, do you think the skiers are showing everyone else how it’s done?”_ Jaime glanced at what had to be Cersei again, and then again, before replying. _“The skiers are always showing everyone else how it’s done, and Brienne Tarth is no exception.”_ And then he winked at Cersei… _no, he had winked at her!_

Brienne almost dropped the mobile onto the floor of her hotel room, her hands suddenly numb from the shocked realisation that all through the interview he had not been looking at Cersei at all. He had been constantly looking at her.

_Why would he do that?_

_“So is this the beginning of a great partnership?”_ The interviewer asked Jaime, following the direction of his glance.

 _“Ask me tomorrow,”_ Jaime grinned, _“if it turns out I’ve lost the competition for us; my partner may yet decide to put me over her shoulder yet again with rather more unpleasant results.”_

Brienne blinked as the phone was snatched from her fingers.

“Well?” Margery asked her, throwing the clothes she pulled from the case over Brienne’s head, “What do you think?”

“About what?” Brienne asked her, mystified.

“About just how much he wants your hands on him, Brienne Tarth,” Margery’s wicked smile gave her words the kind of emphasis that made Brienne flush a bright crimson, “about just how much he wants you to get to grips with him and wrestle him over your shoulder… _again_!”

Brienne gave the only response she could, she snorted dismissively, although her heart gave the oddest lurch.

 _He does it all for the cameras Marge, all for the cameras,_ Brienne thought wistfully.

Margery drove Brienne to the ‘Good Morning Westeros’ studios, escorting her every step of the way, almost as if she was terrified that Brienne would bolt at this the final hurdle in the entire ‘Athlete’s on ice’ experience.  Margaery had been thrilled with the public response to Jaime and Brienne’s performance, and the subsequent voting that raised such a lot of much needed funds for her children’s charity. But she did seem to feel slightly guilty that Brienne had yet to get a sponsor out of their arrangement.

As Brienne sat next to Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen on the uncomfortably hard studio couch, she realised that somehow Jaime Lannister had managed to wriggle out of this rather awkward last engagement.  Brienne had to admit to herself that maybe Margaery was right. If she had known Jaime was not going to turn up, she would have had done everything she could to have avoided another appearance on TV, she was so done with the whole exercise that she would have grabbed her bag and headed north once more.

As, it would appear, had Jaime.

 _Damn you Lannister, double damn you for letting me down,_ Brienne thought glumly, not wanting to dwell too much on the fact that he hadn’t even said goodbye to her. _I should have dropped you on your head when I had the chance._

“So let’s talk about your costume Brienne.” The interviewer decided to focus on Brienne after giving poor Jon Snow a real grilling about his and Daenerys winning routine.

 _Must we,_ Brienne fumed silently to herself, although some of her despair must have shown on her face as the interviewer thawed slightly to say, “Surely you know that your costume was one of the hits of ‘Athletes on Ice’?”

“The costumes for the show were fantastic,” Daenerys said whilst Jon Snow nodded next to her, “just putting them on made you feel the part. I think it really helped us with our routine.”

“Your _winning_ routine,” the interviewer grinned, “but of course, although Brienne Tarth and Ser Jaime Lannister were runners up, I do believe only Brienne’s costume has its own social media account. Tell me, did you expect to come out of the ‘Athletes on Ice experience as something of a sex symbol, Brienne?”

“Me?” Startled, Brienne replied with an emphatic, “I don’t think so!”

The interviewer grinned again, obviously pleased by her shocked response to his question.

Brienne’s heart sank.

_Ha, ha, ha, very funny._

_People are laughing at me again,_ was all she could think, _it’s just like when I was infatuated with Renly. Everyone else was watching me, and laughing. Renly was too nice to simply tell me I didn’t stand a chance and then I only found out the real extent of quite how pathetic I had been when Connington sold the details to the gutter press…_

She felt a red hot flush swamp the skin of her face and neck once more, her skin burning in its wake.

 _I only did this to get a sponsor,_ she reminded herself miserably, keenly aware that this conversation was making the likelihood of her returning to the north with enough money to complete the rest of the season less likely, rather than more.

“I… the costume was… it…,” Brienne stumbled over the words, feeling stupid, exposed, “the costume was…”

 “Far too small for such a tall woman,” a wash of displaced air and the familiar smell of expensive after shave and some kind of lemon shampoo assailed her nostrils as Ser Jaime Lannister dropped down onto the sofa beside her. “It was a nightmare for both of us, believe me, I really had to watch my hand.”

Brienne could only stare at him, both confused and immensely relieved at his sudden appearance.

“Where is the costume now?” The interviewer persisted, “Any chance of it turning up in a charity auction?”

“No, it’s in the bin,” Brienne replied, as brutally honest as always.

A small scream that could only be Margaery came from close by.

“You really put it in a bin?”

Brienne felt Jaime rest his arm across the back of the sofa in a curiously protective gesture.

“You did see our routine?” Jaime asked their host, his tone challenging enough for Brienne to risk a sideways glance at him. He glanced back at her, all ruffled lion and glass green eyes.

“I and a few million others,” was the reply.

“Then why are we talking about her damn costume when this woman lifted me over her shoulder two nights running, whilst balancing on a pair of metal blades.” Jaime leant back in his seat, his eyes narrowed almost to slits, “I’d like to see you try it. Quite honestly... I don't think you'd get past first base. "

The interviewer was flustered enough to run a finger round his collar and clear his throat loudly in the face of Jaime’s well practiced Lannister stare.

Brienne hunched her shoulders and tried to look as small as possible.

_Ye gods, Jaime, you are making me feel huge._

“I understand we should congratulate you Ser Jaime, I hear that you have been granted admission into the Northern Games.” The interviewer seemed to decide to ignore Brienne as he turned his attention to Jaime. “What are your plans now that the ‘Athletes on Ice’ series has finished…?”

Brienne could not escape from the studios fast enough after their interview. No sooner had the signal come for the ordeal to end, Brienne was on her feet and keen to escape.

“Downhill… Downhill, wait… Brienne, wait!”

She reluctantly slowed as Jaime ran to catch her up, his infectious grin making her smile slightly as he fell into step beside her.

“Have you found a sponsor?”

“No,” Brienne saw no reason to lie.

“Tyrion tried to contact your number, but couldn’t get through.”

“Why was Tyrion trying to contact me?

“Why do you think? We want to give you some money of course.”

_Why would the Lannisters want to give me money?_

Brienne blinked, and then blinked again. Hardly able to believe the thought that popped unbidden into her head.

Jaime and Cersei in the corridor.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

_Had Jaime Lannister just offered her hush money?_

“You want to give me money?” Brienne frowned, “What for?”

Jaime sighed at her in exasperation, “You know what for Downhill.”

Brienne searched his beautiful face for a clue as to his concern, her heart breaking over the fact he thought she might betray him in some way.

 _I’d never sell you out Jaime,_ she declared silently, _never!_

“I didn’t see anything Jaime.”

“What?” Jaime’s cheerful grin faded slowly into puzzlement. Whatever he had expected her response to be, this was not it.

“I didn’t see anything,” she repeated softly, unable to meet his gaze, choosing instead to stare fiercely at the floor. “You and Cersei, Jaime, I didn’t see anything…”

“What are you going on about?”

The image of Ser Jaime Lannister so robbed of speech, his mouth was hanging open would have ordinarily have given her a great deal of gratification, but on this occasion it could only appal her.

“I didn’t see…” she went on to repeat her words again, determined to make Jaime understand he could trust her.

“Because there was nothing to see, you idiot,” Jaime’s face was a picture, “You thought I was… you think that…”

Brienne glanced up at him and watched as the man opposite her literally packed his emotion away in front of her. His face became shuttered, his eyes hardened to an opaque jade, giving nothing away.

“There was nothing to see, Downhill,” his voice was frosty, reserved. “Given the lack of suitable sponsors coming forward, I… we… thought it might be time to spread a little of the Lannister largesse where it could be used to help someone who wants to stay in the mountains as much as I do.”

As he spoke, he opened his hand to reveal a cheque which he proceeded to push into her hand with such haste; it was as if he did not want to touch her.

“I can’t…” feeling awful, Brienne tried to give the cheque back, but Jaime took a step back and raised both arms and moving his pockets out of reach. “No, keep it. It’s yours… I never would have been accepted back into the Northern Games if it wasn’t for you, Downhill. I owe you, and as you know, a Lannister always pays his debts.” He paused a moment as she stood before him, staring dumbly at a cheque that was for more than she had ever believed she would be able to secure from a single sponsorship source.

“I, I can’t…” Brienne stuttered, her tongue tying itself into knots, “I can’t accept this Jaime.”

“No, keep it. It’s all yours.” Jaime stared at her, his jaw clenched before he went on to say, “I just thought you knew me better than to think I would stoop so low as to bribe someone to keep them silent about Cersei and…”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t… I’m sorry, I was wrong.” Brienne forced her apology out through stiff lips, humiliated beyond belief by his generosity in the face of her accusation.

He thrust his arms deep into his hoodie pockets and scowled at her and started walking backwards, away from her.

Crap. How was she going to fix this, before Jaime left for ever and with them on the worst of terms?

“No,” Brienne strode after him and seized him by the wrist, “you are not leaving until you’ve accepted my apology and thanks for this… this ridiculous… gift _properly!_ ”

She glared at him fiercely as he stared down his nose at her, very much on his dignity at her audacious move of catching his wrist and holding him fast.

“I’m sorry Jaime,” Brienne stated clearly, “I am truly sorry I offended you and I am so grateful that you and… and… and Tyrion considered sponsoring me.” With that, Brienne released him and went to take a step back feeling sick to her stomach that she managed to ruin their friendship so quickly by jumping to a ridiculous conclusion.

But then Jaime grabbed her hand

He grabbed her hand!

Brienne felt her pulse go into over drive as she stared at his fingers clasped about her wrist. The other arm, his right, stayed firmly buried in his hoodie pocket. But his left hand, his left hand burned a brand around the wrist of her right with a heat that was directly at odds with the overcast freezing cold day so typical of Winterfell in winter.

“So?” he asked.

“So what?” Brienne replied, tugging experimentally at her trapped arm, only to be rewarded by being drawn inexorably towards him with a surprising strength.

“Okay then… so what about our thing?"

Brienne thought she might know what he meant by _their thing_ , that tug of attraction, the odd magnetism that appeared to exist between them. Jaime, the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, and her. Any mirror or window would always reflect back at her an image that showed her with her broken tooth, scarred cheek, as possibly one of the least attractive people to be found on the streets of Winterfell.

“We don’t have a thing, Jaime,” she told him firmly, “what we have is you feeling happy about getting to take part in the able bodied events at the Northern Games and getting that precious chance to compete for your third gold medal. That is what we have.”

“Rubbish,” Jaime informed her arrogantly, “what we have is something like this…”And then he pulled her into the curve of his arm before kissing her on the lips so soundly, her head swam, “and this.”

He kissed her once, twice again before releasing her.

All Brienne could do was lick her lips and stare into his emerald green eyes, unable to string two thoughts together.

“And maybe this…” And he kissed her again.

“Jaime!” she protested.

“What?” he asked her.

“Oh, nothing,” she sighed, and then shyly, gently ran her nose along his jaw before giving him a peck on the cheek back.

“See?” Jaime crowed, wicked eyes twinkling, “what a team!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, as promised, its the end of Athletes on Ice!  
> Its been fun!  
> Hope you've enjoyed it... and you ikkiM... Ms Anon!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 3 part story for Jamie and Brienne Holiday Fest.  
> Anon's prompt was... “Brienne Tarth is the best downhill skier to come out of the Stormlands. Jaime Lannister is the best winter bi athlete in the history of Westeros. What happens when a charity asks them to pair up as figure skaters for one holiday performance of “Athletes on Ice”?”  
> It'll be about a chapter a week, I hope you are going to enjoy it!!!


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